


A Very Fluffy Halloween Fic

by chucks_prophet



Series: Countdown to Halloween [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: And Also Cute Relationship-y stuff with Dean and Cas, Benny Lafitte & Dean Winchester Friendship, Big Brother Dean To the Rescue, Brotherly Love, Candy, Candy Store, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Halloween, If that even is a thing cos it is now, M/M, Marshmallows, Sick Sam, They seriously put the uff in fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 17:26:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12215451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: “Say no more,” Benny replies, “if it’s for Sam, I’ll do it.”Dean tilts his head a little in question. “I didn’t know you liked him so much.”“I don’t,” he replies. “I mean, I don’t hate the kid. I just figure if I can help slow another one of your internal, self-depreciating monologues about somethin’ that happened to him that’s clearly not your fault, I’ll do it. Plus, business’s business, so.”





	A Very Fluffy Halloween Fic

**Author's Note:**

> In my humble opinion, not one of my better fics, but it has a few cute lines so I thought I'd keep going with it.

"Seriously, dude," Dean says, attempting to shovel another spoonful of chicken noodle into his brother's mouth, who just pouts again and jerks his head away, "what's Superman gonna do without Batman? You know... aside from everything."

Sam scoffs, which only turns into a coughing fit, forcing Dean to retract the spoon from near his face. Once he gains composure again, he responds, "I dunno—" Sam's interrupted by a sneeze this time. "Ugh. I mean, I guess we can avoid the fight about Martha."

"But that's our thing, we fight until we nearly kill each other." Dean sighs, hanging his head as he hands Sam a tissue. "Halloween. Of all weeks."

The universe has to be pitted against him. His brother never gets sick. The kid has an immune system that survived 25 other fourth graders last year _and_ a teacher—around the same time of year too, leaving Sam with more candy in his bag than there are leaves on trees.

And now this year—the same year Dean plans to hit up Crazy Creaser's house for the mini cherry pies before egging his house as revenge for the slew of Southern-targeted insults he's thrown at Benny for stepping an inch on his lawn—Sam can't go trick or treating, period.

Dean can't think of any worse punishment for a kid.

"Dean," Sam beckons with a hearty sniff. Dean blinks away the last of his thought to look at his brother's beat-red face. He always pokes fun at Sam for the beauty mark to the left of his large rounded nose, but it's about the only thing balancing the color on his face. After a few more coughs, he musters a smile with a crusted Cupid's bow, "I'll be fine. I’ll miss those cat-shaped marshmallows Sheila across the street makes, but you go. I'm getting too old, anyway."

"Too ol—Sam, you're _ten_. I'm _fourteen_."

"I know _you're_ long in the tooth, I'm saying _I’m_ getting older."

"Alright, Stevie Nicks," Dean concedes, tossing him the Nyquil bottle on his nightstand as he stands up to hide the slight sadness he feels by the comment. "Keep medicating your throat. Unless you want to join the band."

"Bitch."

"Jerk.”

 

 

"Cas, we have to do something."

"Dean, we just made out.”

"No," Dean responds, but doesn't miss flicking his head to his boyfriend, “about Sam. He can't miss out on Halloween. He already thinks he's getting too old to trick or treat."

Cas snaps his head in point so his dark blue eyes, face him head-on so Dean's looking out onto the ocean into binoculars twice the size of his own eyes. "What?! My dad didn't stop trick or treating until he was twenty one!"

"Your dad, the same guy that's writing an autobiography about his adventures in cat blogging."

"You have a valid point," Cas says. "What do you propose we do?"

Lying back into his bed again, Dean shifts away from Cas to the ceiling in thought.

That's when it hits him: “How busy do you think the candy store is tonight?”

 

Up the street is a mini Chocolate Factory so old it tops Willy Wonka sputtering powdered sugar from its brick chimney. However, you’re more likely to find Johnny Depp in dreads than a bob cut when you walk into the barrels of candy lining the halls. (Roy, the owner who Dean’s met a handful of times, is big into pirates.) The smell is everything though, fruity and milky scents waft through the air with a hint of caramel.

Dean will usually stop in on his way home from school to grab a Mars bar and some Tootsie rolls with the little money he makes helping out at Singer’s Auto—money he probably should be saving on an actual car when he turns sixteen, because hoping for the best with his odds of inheriting his dad’s ’67 Chevy doesn’t seem too in his favor. His dad loves that car.

“Dean,” a familiar Cajun voice drawls, “what the hell’re you doing here?”

Dean saunters up to the counter with a scoff, “Nice to see you too, Benny.” Benny’s a couple years their senior, the proof being in his pudding-colored beard, so he’s definitely past his Halloween prime. But he makes up for it working in a candy store.

“Nah, I mean ya’ll should be out trick ‘er treating,” he says, gesturing to he and Cas. “ _Earning_ your candy. Why would ya wanna hit up a candy shop on Halloween?”

“I mean, technically, we’re being smart about it, stocking up on the good candy before it’s gone,” Dean points out, nudging Cas with their joined hands. “Right, Cas? Cas, what’re you—?”

Dean’s same hand falls to his side as Cas wanders off like… well, like a kid in a candy store to stand in front of a rack with assorted cookie cutters. “Dean, they have _guinea pig_ cookie cutters.”

“Oh right,” Dean coughs, trying to dispel the blush kicking his face for not acknowledging how cute Cas is every few seconds, “do you and your dad still make those giant homemade marshmallows?”

“For the record, snortin’ Smarties doesn’t make ya smart,” replies Benny with a wry grin. “But yeah, we do, ya want a batch?”

Dean nods, digging into his pocket to retrieve his cash before setting it on the table. “Make that two, actually.”

It’s Benny’s turn to scoff as he takes the money, “You going off to camp or somethin’?”

“Sam’s sick, and he loves marshmallows, so I thought—”

“Say no more,” Benny replies, “if it’s for Sam, I’ll do it.”

Dean tilts his head a little in question. “I didn’t know you liked him so much.”

“I don’t,” he replies. “I mean, I don’t hate the kid. I just figure if I can help slow another one of your internal, self-depreciating monologues about somethin’ that happened to him that’s clearly not your fault, I’ll do it. Plus, business’s business, so.”

Is Dean _really_ this predictable?

“Oh. My. God. Dean.” Dean turns to the sound of Cas, still at the opposite end of the store, holding up another cookie cutter. “ _They have cats, too.”_

Dean’s eyebrows slowly climb his forehead to push the lightbulb resting there up. Then, pulling out a five, he swivels back to his friend and says, “I’ll take the cutter, too.”

 

 

An hour later, long after they return home, Dean and Cas find themselves with half a dozen bandages around their palms like they just got through performing a Satanic spell or something.

“Cookie cutting is harder than I anticipated,” Cas remarks.

Dean shakes his head with a scoff, “You’re telling me,” Dean replies, running his thumb lightly over the bandages. “This is gonna heal so weird.”

“Dean, don’t hide it, I know you love cats.”

“My declining Benadryl supply says otherwise.” Then: “Sheila’s cat is pretty adorable, though.”

“He’s so fat,” Cas says with all the heart eyes. Dean can’t accept another man stealing his thunder, so he pushes himself off the kitchen counter and swoops in to kiss him. (And also because he’s the best boyfriend ever for giving up his Halloween for this.)

“What’s going on?”

Dean breaks away with another blush, but this time it’s both out of embarrassment and excitement. “Sammy,” he says, and yeah, his brother just woke up from a nap, judging by his newly knotty hair.

Sam groggily narrows his eyes. “Why aren’t you guys trick or treating?”

“We did for a little while, but got bored,” Dean lies, his second duty being the oldest brother. If Sam finds out he gave up Halloween for him, he’ll feel even worse. “Then we stopped at the store.”

Dean nods to Cas to lift the cooking tray behind them to present Sam the cat-shaped marshmallows. Being as they put them in the oven to heat them, the smell of sugar is pouring out of the kitchen and, by the look on Sam’s smiling face, straight through his nostrils he could barely breathe out of a few hours ago. “You… you did all this for me?” he asks.

“Happy Halloween, baby bro,” he says, reaching out to ruffle his hair even more. For once, Sam doesn’t even gripe. He just stares on in awe and sheer happiness.

“Best. Halloween. Ever.”

 

 

Yeah, he thinks later when he’s sitting on the couch next to his sleeping boyfriend and brother, eating leftover marshmallows and watching reruns of _Friends,_ it’s probably the best Halloween he’s had, too.


End file.
